


it's the look in his eyes

by Shadaras



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Dominance, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brohfic week day III (Devotion). A day early because why not. Will be edited tomorrow.</p><p>So Iroh II loves the rush of power and he sets his sights on Bolin. Dominance-sex ensues. There is no plot except as an excuse to write Brohporn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the look in his eyes

I knew the power of bending fire, had known it since the earliest days of my youth. I knew the way pure energy flexed and bent with my muscles, spirits and will binding muscles to lashes of burning light, sending forth sheets of flame towards the opponent (not the enemy, never the enemy, not then). I knew it, and I loved it, and there was no purer joy in my childhood than mastering every form I was exposed to and no few my instructors would rather I not have learnt.

I knew the power of command, had known it since I came of age. I grew up in the army, taking after my namesake (I never knew him, only of him, but the stories I heard made me want nothing more than to live up to his name). I was given command quickly for my bloodline and my skill, and the first day I commanded my people in battle against a ragged band of thieves I felt a heady glow that outshone even the power of lightning rushing through my body. The way my people (all older than I, more experienced) moved to obey my words at the slightest provocation, how quickly and smoothly it all flowed... I am almost certain that then I simply thought it the rush of battle.

I knew the power of relationships long before I met him, of course; I am no stranger to sex and the games of all sorts that can be played in the bedroom. I simply did not think it odd that I enjoyed the power of domination until I met him. It is within our culture to believe that the man should be dominant, and I had not realized my attraction to men until he came along and changed everything. (I had experimented, but always in the heat of battle, always with people I knew I would never see again, for there was an unspoken rule that one may have battlesex but only so long as it is never thereafter mentioned, only if it is never again enacted.)

I knew the power of his eyes the moment he looked into mine and that smile spread across his face. I knew the way I wanted to have him the moment he broke the Equalist airfield, bending earth in an unorthodox but powerful way. I knew the way I wanted to court him as soon as we returned to Republic City after the Avatar had regained her power through some trickery of her ancestors.

I knew, though it took me long weeks to act, feeling him out, making sure that he would be able to take all that I could give. He was earth through and through, solid and strong and apparently incapable of noticing minor pains. (He would pull a muscle in a sparring match and only notice after, when someone asked him if he was limping, and he’d just blink and shrug and smile that amazing, disarming, smile and say “Oh, it’s fine” and continue as if nothing was wrong.) It made me want to take him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but his face (already so open, so expressive) left blank by sensation and made an empty slate to write upon, and there would be only one word there:

Devotion.

I wanted him so much that it hurt, that it was all I could do to work alongside him as I organized my command in repairing Republic City. I was of lesser use than he, for fire is unsuited to repair work other than welding, and the metalbenders could create stronger bonds without nearly as much effort or possible harm to bystanders. That, too, hurt. I watched him as he followed my metalbenders around, watching them and asking them questions until he could metalbend a rod into a rough circle.

And I will never forget that it was me he turned to, not the metalbender teaching him, when he first joined two supports together. I will never forget his smile, nor the way his entire body lit up with pride at his accomplishment.

It was that day that I knew I had to act or lose him. It was that day, when the sun was setting and we were all walking back to our quarters, that I asked him if he’d like to go get something to drink, maybe talk a little, before we went to the places we considered home. And he said yes, and he had such joy in his face, and we went to a little bar he knew (though dragons alone know how he learned of it) that served the best beer in the city, or so it claimed. As best I could tell, it was a perfectly reasonable claim; we certainly drank enough that night. Perhaps it was even too much; by the time we made our way back to his apartment (weaving, leaning on each other with an easy camaraderie that we had never before had but now felt like it had been present for all our lives), it was a constant effort to choose between determinedly ignoring my erection and maintaining stumbling conversation.

I didn’t jump him until we were inside, and even inside his bedroom. I consider that a fine accomplishment.

And then I pressed him to the wall (movement came easily now, sharp and predatory and the cloud clearing with the promise of power and control and _Bolin_ ) and I could smell him, stone and iron and flesh sweet and right _there_ and before I could think to ask, or even hear what was gasping out of his mouth I kissed him, and I tasted the leftover tang of beer (going sour, but not enough to hide the way he tasted, the way he was melting as I pressed closer, the way he clutched at me like I was the only thing keeping him upright and the wall was the only other thing that even might exist).

And I opened my eyes and there he was, his eyes wide and his face blank and every inch of his body screaming _yes_ so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. My ears were ringing and I couldn’t think, and now his hands were running over my back, and I could faintly hear him saying something that sounded like _“Are you sure? You’re not just doing this because we’re drunk? Can you hear me? Iroh? Say something, Iroh.”_ , and I finally smiled (bared my teeth? I’m never sure the proper words.) and maybe said (I couldn’t tell if it reached the air beyond our lips) “Yes.”

I don’t know what he heard in the word (all the pent-up frustration all the yearning all the desire that I had refused to act upon all the need for control all the ways in which I wanted to keep him and make him mine and mine alone because he was beautiful and special and so strong and I _wanted_ him and by all the powers I would _have_ him) but it made him go still and his face open and for a moment I was afraid I had done something wrong.

Then he smiled (impish now, wry delight and so incredibly arousing) and he said (voice rougher now than just a few minutes before), “Well, since you’re so sure,” and he started taking off my jacket with delicate fingers.

He got through perhaps three buttons before I growled and grabbed both his hands in mine and yanked them above his head. I couldn’t hold them in one hand (large hands, muscled by honest labour and toned by years of rough earthbending), but when I pressed one hand against both his wrists he stilled, and I brought the other down to trace the lines of his face and neck. As my fingernail pulled lightly against the skin by his ear, he moaned, and I jerked against him in reaction, heat rushing through my body, and I prayed with what little bits of my mind I still had that I wouldn’t firebend by instinct; I wanted to control him, not hurt him, not like that.

So I stepped back and commanded him to strip for me. He nodded, jerkily, and began with his boots (just as solid and common as he), moving from there on to his vest and shirt (revealing the torso I’d seen before, as he laboured in the sun, sweat making it glisten and the dark hairs scattered across his tanned skin stick in a way I loved), and hesitating only at his trousers. I raised my eyebrows. He looked up at me (still fully clothed, not moving a muscle from where I stood barely a hand’s breadth from him), and then back down at his (naked muscled beautiful) body. His hands were trembling, I noticed, clinically. They were shaking and missing the buttons and I refused to move to help him, no matter how badly I wanted to see the full extent of the muscles on his legs, or the way his legs merged with his torso, or his phallus (erect, and I could see that even now, and it simply made me want him more).

When at last his fingers (broad and muscled as everything else, but able to be so delicate and precise) let drop his trousers, and pulled down his boxers, and he stood before me naked and trembling and covered with goosebumps that made his hair (strangely light on his skin) stand up and out as if it tried to defend him, with his penis pointing straight at me (and oh it was lovely with all its little wrinkles and veins and I just wanted to touch it but no that would be too easy, that would be nowhere near as deep a delight) – when at last he stood defenseless before me, I reached out and pressed two fingers against his throat, not enough to even possibly harm him, but enough to see what he would do.

He rocked back and I could _feel_ the gasp of air in his throat and the way his heartbeat (already quick and hard) sped up at the pressure. I stepped forward, feeling the warmth of him against me, even through my layers of clothing. “Now you may undress me,” I whispered, reveling in the way he leaned towards me as my breath caressed his ear (little tendrils of black hair moving, brushing against my lips and _oh_ I wanted more but no, not yet, that could wait until he had removed all [or at least enough] of my clothing).

He groaned, and his hands (steadier now, I noticed, pleased) reached back towards my jacket, careful and neat and undoing each button with precision. When he slipped it off my shoulders I rocked forward, carried by the strength of his hands and how _careful_ he was being, how nice and good he was and how he wasn’t moving anything but his hands and arms, not even trying to thrust his hips forward against mine so close to his. And as he began undoing my shirt, his fingers brushed against my skin and there was lightning, lightning flashing from my groin to my heart to his hands, like lightningbending in the best of ways but with even more of a rush as desire built even higher. And he didn’t seem to notice, as his hands (skin so dry and rough, catching on imperfections but better for it) finally pulled my shirt off so that I too was barechested in the dim light.

His hands hesitated for a second, brushing down my chest (I could see him moving towards me, infinitesimally, or was that me moving towards him? I couldn’t tell anymore.) towards my trousers, and then down further, against the smooth material (did he know what he was doing to me?) until he was kneeling in front of me (head bent forehead resting against my thigh my hand moving without conscious thought to grip his hair and as my fingers closed I heard him moan and had to hold back an answering noise), hands working on my boots to remove them and as he set them aside he looked up at me with the most perfect expression (the only thing better would be my cock in his mouth and a collar around his neck and I would have those soon, I was sure).

Then his fingers trailed their way back up my legs until he was at the buttons of my trousers again, and his eyes (green as shadowed summer leaves, darker now than I’d seen them before) were locked on mine as he undid them and pulled them down (boxers in the same motion) and as I stepped out of them he tossed them aside and stayed, kneeling, motionless, in front of me. For a moment his hands stayed at his sides, as still as the rest of him, and I tightened my grip on his hair and he breathed (so light and it just made me want _more_ ) and his hands reached up and one pulled me closer to his mouth (not what I was expecting but I didn’t mind, couldn’t mind so long as it was his hands, his skin burning against mine) and the other guiding me (hand alone almost too much, even gentle, even not pulling, just putting pressure against me, like I was about to burst, about to burn from the inside out) into his mouth and then _yes_.

I held his hair and fucked him, spurred on by the whimpers that escaped and the halfhearted cries of pain as my cock moved in and out of his mouth (soft and gentle and he somehow kept his mouth open wide enough that I never scraped against his teeth though I almost wanted to) and he took me deep, deeper than I thought he could, until I paused with his nose pressed into my crotch, his hair mixing with mine (nearly the same colour, though his was ruddier in shade) as I shook silently with pleasure.

He took it all and I stepped back at last, pleased. I left one hand where it was and used the other to pat him on the cheek. “Good man.”

He leaned against my leg, wrapping one arm around my thigh and displaying his still-engorged cock. “Can I...?” He gestured vaguely towards it, sounding and looking so innocent I just smiled.

“Only if you put on a show for me.” I began moving towards the bed (dragging him along, shuffling on his knees to keep up, and I loved him so fiercely in that moment that my heart ached), and when I sat I removed my hand from his hair, so that he could crawl up beside me and lay down. As he did, posing so that I could clearly see every band of muscle (no excess fat anywhere on his body, just solid bones and strong muscle and I ached to see what I could do to him, but that was for later; this was just the first test, the first experiment that might last) and the curve of his cock (dripping now, little glistening drops that fell to rest on his navel).

His fingers moved so fluidly as they pressed against the skin of his chest and cock (he was pulling at his nipples, twisting them, and _oh_ it was the most erotic thing I had ever seen, and I wished I hadn’t already spent myself. next time, I told myself, next time I would know better.), tugging and twisting and I could see the flesh distort beneath his strength and he was writhing, moaning (so much noise, so beautiful and I wanted to make him cry out for me, beg for pleasure, but that too was for later, because I wasn’t giving him up, not after this), and when he orgasmed he arched against the bed and I thought I felt the earth tremble below us.

When his shudders faded he turned to me with a smile of bliss and an outstretched arm. “Stay with me,” he murmured, voice slurred now with sleepiness.

I found myself wrapped within those arms (pressed against that sweat-slick skin, that jizz-sticky chest), head tucked under his, breathing in the scent of warm earth and hot iron and the musk of sex and I knew the strength around me was meant purely for protection, and the last thought in my head before I slipped into dreams was that I was never going to let this one go.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've actually written porn, and I really don't care about writing the parts that are actually sex; everything else is so much hotter, to me. But this was fun nonetheless.


End file.
